A Daughter of the Dons eBook

“I trust, senor, your experience of yesterday
has not given you a wakeful night?”

“Slept like a top. Fact is, I’m just
getting up. You heard this morning yet how Tom
is?”

“The morning newspaper says he is doing very
well indeed.”

“That’s good hearing. He’s
a first-rate boy, and I’d hate to hear worse
of him. But I mustn’t take your time over
our affairs. I think you mentioned business,
sir?”

The Castilian leaned forward and fixed his black,
piercing eyes on the other. Straight into his
business he plunged.

“Senor Gordon, have you ever heard of the Valdes
grant?”

“Not to remember it. What kind of a grant
is it?”

“It is a land grant, made by Governor Facundo
Megares, of New Mexico, which territory was then a
province of Spain, to Don Fernando Valdes, in consideration
of services rendered the Spanish crown against the
Indians.”

Dick shook his head. “You’ve got
me, sir. If I ever heard of it the thing has
plumb slipped my mind. Ought I to know about it?”

“Have you ever heard of the Moreno grant?”

Somewhere in the back of the young man’s mind
a faint memory stirred. He seemed to see an old
man seated at a table in a big room with a carved
fireplace. The table was littered with papers,
and the old gentleman was explaining them to a woman.
She was his daughter, Dick’s mother. A slip
of a youngster was playing about the room with two
puppies. That little five-year-old was the young
mine operator.

“I have,” he answered calmly.

“You know, then, that a later governor of the
territory, Manuel Armijo, illegally carved half a
million acres out of the former grant and gave it
to Jose Moreno, from whom your grandfather bought it.”

The miner’s face froze to impassivity.
He was learning news. The very existence of such
a grant was a surprise to him. His grandfather
and his mother had been dead fifteen years. Somewhere
in an old trunk back in Kentucky there was a tin box
full of papers that might tell a story. But for
the present he preferred to assume that he knew what
information they contained.

“I object to the word illegal, Don Manuel,”
he answered curtly, not at all sure his objection
had any foundation of law.

“The law is an expensive arbiter, Senor Gordon.
Your claim is slight. The title has never been
perfected by you. In fifteen years you have paid
no taxes. Still your claim, though worthless in
itself, operates as a cloud upon the title of my client,
the Valdes heir.”

Dick looked at him steadily and nodded. He began
to see the purpose of this visit. He waited silently,
his mind very alert.

“Senor, I am here to ask of you a relinquishment.
You are brave; no doubt, chivalrous——­”